


Unsaid, undone

by Violetta_Valery



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Declarations Of Love, F/M, Fantasizing, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Infatuated Fox Mulder, MSR, Masturbation, POV Dana Scully, POV Fox Mulder, Prompt Fic, RST, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetta_Valery/pseuds/Violetta_Valery
Summary: Prompted by the smoking-hot edit made by @xfilesvideoskiwiphroot on Instagram, posted November 30, 2020.Do yourself a favour and watch it. With sound on. On loop.https://www.instagram.com/p/CILOsYwDn17/?igshid=1sod60y0i33or
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 11
Kudos: 42





	Unsaid, undone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiwiphroot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiwiphroot/gifts).



> Spoilers: Not really. A couple borrowed, completely out of original context verses from David Duchovny’s music, I’ve been listening to him a lot!
> 
> Disclaimers: goes without saying, “The X-Files” characters are not mine. English is not my mother language, so excuse any grammar errors or unimaginative vocabulary. And of course, have fun!

*****  
It’s late, and I know I shouldn’t be calling. He’s the one who does this kind of thing, this sort of need-to-hear-your-voice security check. But tonight I’m restless, and distressed, and in need of Mulder, my friend. Mulder, my partner, and I had a tough week helping the Violent Crimes Section on a rather nerve-wracking case, and although it’s already been two days we managed to close it, it was still taking its toll on both of us. We had these days of closure report writing and expense reporting back in the basement, and yet we exchanged nothing but a handful of words. I needed to hear his voice. So I called. “Mulder, it’s me. I need you to come up here.” 

I’m lying on my couch with my work clothes on, just the jacket and shoes on the floor. Something I don’t do either. He’s the one who crashes on the couch, always so reckless. I’ve been here for the past three hours or so, adrift, watching the sun go down and the streetlights dance in my living room, forming patterns in the walls, in the back of the couch, in my face. I feel stiff, but that sight has an almost hallucinogenic effect on me, and I feel myself loosen. Imprinted in my mind’s eye, I see the dancing lights like a kaleidoscope, images shifting first between the faces of all those dead women, forever hardened in a look of fear at their imminent rape and murder by the psycho we managed to catch. He wouldn’t hurt another woman, and those faces would now be able to rest in some kind of unfair peace. I shake my head to draw them away, and the next face I see is Mulder… my Mulder, holding me by the shoulders, ever invasive of my personal space, checking on me. I can read his lips “are-you-alright” me in slow motion, oh so close to me. I instinctively lick my own lips, unaware of the soft sighs my mouth sets free, and a hand slides down my thighs to reach the warm, intimate apex between them. The fabric tortures me as I move my fingers.

I can’t count the times when, in moments of solitude, I touched myself to the memory of my Mulder. He could be a door away on a cheap motel, and the thought of that proximity made me tingly and wet and safe. He could be back in Alexandria, and the remembrance of the smell of his leather couch, where we worked together on some many files, along with that of Mulder, sent a direct message to my core and I’d weep in guilty pleasure till I came undone, missing his closeness. I guess he means more to me than I ever thought a man could. Past desire, past friendship, past love as common sense understands it. Like he once said, he is my constant. My anchor. Yet my rational mind still struggles, even after all these years, to reach out to him and go full circle; God, so much unsaid, so much undone. 

I languidly unbutton my slacks and lower the zipper, so that my now fidgety fingers meet the moist, velvet-like insides of me; my sex opens up like a flower covered in morning dew. “Oh my God…” I can feel his lips on me, and I could just chew his lower lip till the soft skin there breaks. I can taste him as our tongues explore each other in a dreamlike rhythm, frantic and in slow motion at the same time. Dreamy, mind-blowing. Hallucinogenic. My hand now moves almost frictionless, the honey pouring and flooding my super sensitive skin, making my panties damp. My clit throbs and I hit it with my palm, as my fingers dive between and along my folds. I can feel him going down on me, tracing a path of moist and breath from my stomach to my navel, to my womb and through my curls till he reaches my sweetest spot. The sensation is more than I can take, I’m lost. So lost I don’t hear the knock on my door.

“Oh my God…”

*****  
This is so not Scully, calling me at this hour. She should’ve been sleeping by now; she sleeps so easily I almost envy her for it. So I try to keep my worry to myself as I answer the phone. “I’ll be right there.” I bite my lip as I stare at the steering wheel, whishing I hadn’t drunk that cheap vodka mixed with some generic, sweet sorbet straight from the bottle on a parking lot not far from the Bureau. My mind is not 100% sharp, and I have to be 100% sharp whenever Scully calls for me. She hardly ever does. So self-sufficient, my Scully. 

I don’t drink. Not usually, but that case messed up with everybody’s heads. I had never seen anything like it: seven raped and mutilated women in a matter of days in Portland ME, every two of them showing up in the early hours of each morning. It was a serial killer on a murder spree. The VCS summoned us up because of my profiling expertise, but I wished we didn’t have to take this case. Scully had to perform the autopsy on all those women, her disgust and anger over the murderer growing with each body exam. In the end, it was her thorough examination that retrieved the evidence which led the team to catch the guy in such short time. So competent, my Scully. The Bureau owns her a lot. Of course, when we caught the killer on the verge of committing his eighth murder, he was immediately arrested and we could go back to D. C., but the rancid bureaucratic report of the case still needed to be done; she was so exhausted I asked her to give me her autopsy results and worked on it myself, so she could get her mind off of it for a moment, working only with the expense reports. I let her be, and we spent almost the entire two days barely talking to each other. It was so weird. Like something vital was missing. So vital to me, my Scully.

And here I am, light-headed on booze, on a parking lot. I can picture Scully in her apartment, alone, needing me there. She said it so, her exact words were “I need you to come up here.” I won’t fail her. I’ll be right there. I drive as safely as I can and watch the signs as I go, following the streetlights, and in my mind I see Scully, that tiny yet gigantic woman, lying on her couch in the dark, eyes wide open in distress, and I can’t help but feel a sudden heat flush through my face. It goes up and then straight down, stirring my cock into an erection. All I want to do is get to her place and wrap my arms as tightly as humanly possible around her, make myself into a blanket for her and cover her from head to toe, so she feels warm and safe and all better. Why this is such an erotic image in my head, fails me. Maybe it’s just because it is Scully, my Scully. My one in five billion, my constant. Try to explain our connection, you won’t get even near. This is the greatest X-File of all: our connection. The way we complete each other in every possible human way. That is, with one final turn on the wheel to go full circle. It also fails me why I’m so afraid of it. Maybe because I can’t afford to even think of losing the one woman I ever really loved. My one human connection.

I feel my hard-on dangerously tenting my trousers, and damnit, I need some kind of relief or I’ll make a mess of myself. Arriving at Scully’s with cum all over my pants is not an option. But neither is taking longer than I already am to get there, so I take a deep breath and move on, trying to somehow distract my thoughts. I’m not a damn teenager, I need to cut the BS, but apparently my body doesn’t want to acknowledge it. As I try to pay attention to the signs and lights along the way, they have an hypnotic effect on me: the billboards pass by, and in them I see her, open eyes and open mouth, as if calling to me like a silent mermaid. She doesn’t need to use her voice to enchant me, all I have to do is dive into the pools of her eyes, and then I’m lost. I remember there is a spare t-shirt tossed on the backseat, to what purpose I can’t recall, and I grab it while stopping on a traffic light. As it turns green and I step on the gas, thankful it’s late and there are hardly any cars – or police – in the street, I pull out my cock and cover it with the t-shirt, stroking myself under it. Scully is there in my mind’s eye, calling out to me. She blinks, and I pulse within my grasp. She licks her bottom lip, such a tease, and I thrust into myself. She throws her head back, and I’m pumping my manhood furiously, my own head glued to the seat but still keeping my eyes on the road. I can see her mouth move, gasping “oh-my-god” to me in slow motion, oh so close, and I come hard, mumbling her name and spilling my seed into the t-shirt I’m so thankful to have found. 

Somehow, I arrive to a full stop with the car on Scully’s street just as I begin relaxing from the massive orgasm I just had. How I got there, unharmed of all things, I probably will never know. Still covered by the t-shirt, I park the car on the sidewalk, then take my time to clean up the mess and tuck my now soft flesh inside my pants. I think of calling Scully’s cell so that she knows I’m arriving, but then give up on the idea; if by any chance she’s fallen asleep I don’t want to wake her up. If that was the case, I’d just sit by her side and watch over her. I climb the stairs and stand ready to knock, when I hear a faint sound coming through the door. I can’t distinguish it, so I lightly knock anyway.

“Oh my God…”

*****  
My heart is pounding. I can feel it in my temples, I can feel it in my chest, I can feel it in my sex. I stop, on the break of my orgasm, starry-eyed and stormy, as I see Mulder standing by the door and turning on the lights. He watches me with a blank face. At first it seems he is trying to figure out what was just going on, but when his eyes turn from a hazel glow to pitch-black, I know he knows. Our eyes meet, and I know we have just come full circle.

He kneels beside me and cups my cheek with one hand, caressing my skin with his thumb. He opens his mouth to speak and without a thought I stop him, pressing my honey-coated fingers to his lips. He smells me, and reverently puts each of them into his mouth, kissing and sucking one by one until my hand’s dry, the soft touch of his tongue reverberating into every nerve cell in my body. When he’s finished, he lowers my hand and kisses me deeply, at first with the devotion of a pilgrim to a saint, then fervently, as lovers do. My heart is singing.

Without a word, Mulder lifts me up and carries me to the bedroom, laying me down as if I were made of glass. He takes off his work clothes – and I wonder if he was working until late, until I recognize a faint smell of alcohol – without ever breaking eye contact, then towers on top of me and slowly opens button by button of my dress shirt. Every soft stroke of his knuckles to my skin sends shivers down my spine, and I think I’m about to come at every touch. Shirt’s gone, he slides his hands inside my slacks and lower them along with my ruined panties. I reach for the hook of my bra, but he holds me back, so I allow him this last courtesy. Exactly like I saw in my mind, now I can see him going down on me, tracing a path of moist and breath from my stomach to my navel, to my womb and through my curls till he reaches my sweetest spot. One, two, three laps of his tongue, and I finally speak. No. I just eat my words and let go. I moan loudly, savagely, as I finally find my release. God, it is my Mulder between my thighs. 

*****  
The most beautiful sound I ever heard. I’m glad I held her legs spread apart, it allowed me to hear her orgasm in full stereo, an almost wild yet lyrical cascade of sound. Hell, I am between Scully’s thighs. I can’t figure out how much time passed since my jacking off, but all the turmoil we’ve been through since I knocked on her door has granted me another full, nearly painful erection. Sweetly painful. I can feel the precum pearling, so I climb her till our eyes meet. I kiss every inch of skin I can find, cheeks, eyelids, temples, forehead, lips. I cover the smooth territory of her neck and collarbone, tracing my path to her Bernini-sculpted breasts, a beautiful pattern yet to be matched. I reach them with feather-light strokes, one with my lips and tongue, the other with the tips of my fingers, switching places and never leaving any unattended. They feel like cashmere, warm and cozy, precious and inviting. Exactly like I saw in my mind, I now watch her, open eyes and open mouth, as if calling to me like a mermaid, only this time she speaks. No. She gasps and whimpers at my every touch. She’s super sensitized, each and every pore sing at the slightest provocation. 

I sense her hands reaching out to me, seeking my cock, so I draw a little from her so she can gain access. She takes me in her hands, her tiny, delicate, sacred hands, and guides me to her sex, coating me in her honey. She gasps as the tip touches her clit and withdraws a bit, the feeling’s too much right now. I’m now at her door, and this time I don’t have to knock, I slide inside so very slowly, feeling her walls tumbling down on me. All of them. We’ve finally come full circle. 

I move as delicately as I can until she gets used to me being inside her, which is surprisingly fast. We are tailor-made for each other, the last completion left, now proven beyond reasonable or unreasonable doubt. I’m now pumping faster and deeper, myself caught in a whirlwind as much as she, but I look at her face and it seems this is almost more than she can take right now. So, in a swift move, I release her and turn her around, so she is now with her stomach in the mattress. On the spot she’s on her elbows and knees, her legs spread. She looks behind her shoulders to catch my eyes as I enter her again, and now I smile as I see her relaxed. I want her to enjoy this as much as I. Enjoy is not the word. I want her to relish in this last first time of ours, the last spin of the wheel, as much as I. My pace is speeding up, my balls slapping her behind as my thrusts become frantic, feral. I join her moans, we’re both on the edge, and as I feel her fingers bumping on my cock while she caresses her clit, I scream, and she screams. My cum spreads inside her and mixes with her honey, and we’re now united in a molecular level, fused. We lay down, side by side, still panting. She looks at me with teared-up eyes and a coy smile; I smile back, tucking her hair behind her ear. Then I wrap her like a blanket, covering her from head to toe, and she finally speaks against my chest.

“I just wanted to hear your voice. I didn’t know I needed to hear your body sing.”

“I’m glad you called me. Now there’s nothing unsaid or undone.”

“There’s one thing left, though.”

“I guess you’re right. I love you.”

“I love you… my Mulder.”

The world was in peace that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t be shy, leave your feedback! Ideas and requests for upcoming stories are most welcome!


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